Netori: I Shall Steal All Of My Enemies' Women For Revenge!

Today was the day.

Haruto and Ren's scheduled fight was finally here.

Haruto was accompanied by Enji, Arataki, and Ayaka, but Old Futto was noticeably absent.

He had opted out, explaining that the sight of blood and violence triggered his panic attacks—a lingering trauma from his past.

No one questioned it.

What was questionable, though, was Kikuchi's unexpected presence.

His presence immediately put the trio on edge. Enji, Arataki, and Haruto exchanged uneasy glances, their nerves fraying as Kikuchi casually leaned against the car, his gaze sweeping over the group.

"What's this, Senior Kikuchi?" Haruto asked, trying to keep his tone light. "You don't need to come with us. I know you're busy—"

Kikuchi cut him off with a bored tone. "And? I just feel like watching a fight. I'm bored."

His eyes lingered on Ayaka, scrutinizing her from head to toe. "Is this the girl you and Ren are fighting over?"

He sighed, shaking his head as he turned his gaze back to Haruto. "You know, you and Ren have too much time on your hands if you're fighting over something so stupid."

Haruto's eyes darkened.

"She's not stupid." His voice was firm, his steps deliberate as he closed the distance between them.

"She's my woman. And I'd appreciate it if you respected her the way you respect me."

Kikuchi met his stare, completely unbothered. The tension between them thickened, heavy enough to silence Enji, Arataki, and even Ayaka.

"Haruto, I—" Ayaka started, but Haruto raised a hand, stopping her.

This was his problem. He would deal with it his way.

Kikuchi snorted, then turned to the car and opened the door. "Let's go. You don't want that brat waiting—he's impatient." With that, he slipped inside and shut the door.

Enji and Arataki exhaled, their shoulders relaxing slightly.

Then, Enji grabbed Haruto's arm and pulled him a few steps away, just far enough to avoid Kikuchi's sharp ears.
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Leaning in, Enji's voice dropped to a whisper. "See? That bastard already smells something fishy, you dumbass."

His tone was sharp. "The cops always have big mouths. Even if they know me, they could still slip up."

Haruto's expression remained unreadable. "It's fine. I'll take responsibility."

Enji's scowl deepened. He slammed a fist against Haruto's chest. "Take responsibility? The hell are you gonna do? You're just a high schooler like the rest of us."

He lowered his voice further, eyes narrowing. "If Kikuchi really wanted to, he'd chop you into pieces and dump you in the ocean."

But Haruto didn't flinch.

Instead, his lips curled into a smirk. "And? I'll figure something out." His voice was steady, unwavering.

"At least until I kill Daiki. And before that—" His gaze locked onto Enji's, sharp as a blade. "I will survive."

For a moment, they stood there, staring each other down.

Then—

BEEP!

The car horn blared, making them both jolt.

Arataki leaned out the driver's side window.

"Oi, hurry the hell up. Let's go."

Haruto and Enji exchanged one last glance before silently making their way to the car.

With the engine rumbling beneath them, they drove through the night, toward the fight that would decide everything.

The journey was short but heavy with silence, the car feeling like a moving grave as each of them drowned in their thoughts.

When they arrived, they followed the usual routine—ordering drinks from the bartender, who discreetly granted them access to the underground ring.

Descending into the depths beneath the bar, the stench of dried and fresh blood hit them. The underground colosseum spread out before them, dimly lit by flickering lights.

The arena itself was sunken deep into the ground, a pit carved into stone.

Around it, rows of seats rose high above, forming a brutal theater where spectators could enjoy the carnage from above, safely out of reach of the violence below.

The Red Fang was already seated, laughing and chatting as if this were just another casual night of entertainment.

But Ren was different.

He sat stiffly among them, shoulders rigid, face devoid of emotion. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by a strange, almost robotic stillness.

Haruto narrowed his eyes. Something wasn't right.

Beside him, Kikuchi smirked.

"You noticed, huh?" he murmured, making them pause mid-step. "Don't stop. Keep walking. Act normal."

They resumed their pace, though now, their eyes flicked toward Kikuchi, waiting for an explanation.

"This won't be a fair fight," he continued, voice low. "And it won't be easy. But I know you can handle it, Haruto."

Haruto's jaw clenched. "What do you mean?"

Kikuchi didn't answer right away.

Haruto's mind raced. 'Ren is weak.' He knew that.

He'd watched him beat Kota senselessly when he was still alive, his punches dull and unrefined.

Ren wasn't a fighter—his movements were sloppy, his instincts even worse.

So why was Kikuchi warning him?

And why was he even here? Kikuchi never wasted time watching low-level fights. Except his one fight with Daiki, but it was because he fought with Daiki.

Something's wrong.

"You'll understand when you're in the ring," Kikuchi finally said. "Consider this punishment for trying something stupid."

Before Haruto could question him further, they reached the arena. Daiki stood at the edge of the pit, his gang spread out in the stands above, watching with amused expressions.

"Ah, Kikuchi's here. That's unexpected for someone as busy as you," Daiki's tone sarcastic.

"This busy man needs entertainment too, you know," Kikuchi replied lazily, then gestured toward the pit. "Let's get started."

Haruto took a step toward the stairs leading down, but Arataki suddenly grabbed his wrist, leaning in.

"It's a drug," he whispered. "Ren took something."

Haruto froze.

Then, slowly, he exhaled. His fingers moved to unbutton his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders. Wrapping a cloth around his hands, he cracked his knuckles.

'So that's what this is.'

He smirked, rolling his neck.

'No matter what kind of drug that bastard took… I won't back down. I'll win.'

With that, he descended the stone steps, the weight of countless fights hanging in the air around him.

The gangs watched from above, their voices echoing through the Colosseum as the ground beneath his feet felt colder than ever.

'Ren… I'm about to make you wish you never crawled into this ring.'